Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

I lift my cup, deliberately evasive. ‘I expect Louis had chicken nuggets,’ I answer instead. ‘Which are always preferable to raw fish.’

His face lightens then as he allows himself a small chuckle. ‘Chicken goujons, actually. And pomme frites.’

‘Like I said, chicken nuggets and chips,’ I answer with a shrug. ‘What are you doing here? I would’ve thought Covent Garden on a Saturday wouldn’t be your thing.’

‘We’ve been to the Transport Museum. Louis’s choice. And Will, my friend, is a coffee snob, and the coffee here, to quote him, is the dog’s bollocks.’ I can’t help but giggle as he says, ‘So here we are. Serendipitous, no?’

Serendipity or someone up there taking the piss?

‘Ella?’

‘Hmm?’ I roll my lips inwards, trying not to encourage him as his eyes flick from my lips to my chest and back again.

‘What colour is this?’ Suddenly, he reaches out, pulling a lock of my hair free from the mass at my shoulder.

‘B-brown,’ I stutter, overwhelmed by his proximity. ‘Mostly. Along with a bit of red.’

‘Nah, it’s more than that,’ he muses, staring intently at the hair in his hand. ‘So many shades. It’s like the colour of autumn. Same as the wee strip of hair between your legs.’ My mouth falls open, but before I have a chance to be scandalised, he carries on. ‘Anyway.’ His hand falls away as he sits back in his chair. ‘I’ve been sent to invite you to join our table.’

He gestures behind me, and I turn my head briefly. Two tables away, Louis and a little girl of about six sit. Their heads are bowed, perhaps over a book, though more likely an iPad. On the opposite side of the table, two men each raise a hand in greeting. I return their smiles but not their gestures.

‘You think I’m going to come over there so you can discuss the colour of my hair.’ I lower my voice. ‘My pubes?’

His chuckle is low and rasping, his eyes so very dark. ‘I’d gladly sit all day and wax lyrical about your lovely cunt but not with that lot. I’m no’ much interested in the group thing.’

‘Group!’ I splutter, now scandalised.

‘You have the sweetest and prettiest cunt I’ve seen.’

‘Please, stop saying that!’

‘Stop paying you compliments?’ he asks, feigning confusion.

‘No, stop saying th-that word.’ Please, before I explode from embarrassment. Or from wriggling in my seat.

‘I’m sorry, Ella,’ he replies, folding his arms across his broad chest, the note of challenge in his eye. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

‘Cunt! There, I said it. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

‘I do want it. Very much so.’

‘You really are the worst.’ I try hard to ignore his expression and the dark gleam in his eyes.

‘I think we established that last night. And that you like that I bring out the bad in you.’ As he finishes, he suddenly lunges forward in his chair. He looks about to take my hand, though he reaches for the container holding the packets of sugar and sweetener instead. ‘You know I didn’t sneak out this morning, don’t you?’

‘I’m sure you don’t need to sneak out of your own house.’ I pull my hands into my lap, lest he be tempted again. Lest I be tempted to crawl across the table to him.

‘I came to your room once Louis was settled.’ His gaze lifts from the packet of raw sugar between his large fingers. Fingers that a few hours ago were inside me.

‘I-I must have fallen asleep,’ I reply, unable to look him in the eye. ‘But I do think it probably best if we forget last night ever happened.’

‘You’re probably right. It’s a shame I’m no’ interested in doing the right thing.’ His voice is low and heavy with a note of flirtation, and though he doesn’t say it, the implication still sits between us: I wanted to be anything but good last night.

‘I find that very hard to believe,’ I answer blandly. ‘A man who rearranges his life for his son is the epitome of upstanding, as far as I’m concerned.’ That’s right; bring the conversation around to his child—to anything but last night.

‘Darlin’, you’d better believe it. My only regret from last night is that we didn’t get to finish what we started.’

‘Oh,’ I answer, thrilled and disconcerted. But mostly thrilled. ‘Th-that doesn’t mean it can happen again.’

His responding chuckle is a touch rueful. ‘I told myself the same when I was out running. As far as I was concerned, you were off limits.’ My heart takes wings at his admission—he’s been thinking about me. The attraction is mutual. But still wrong.

‘Good,’ I reply firmly. ‘Let’s keep it that way.’

‘That’s what I told myself, but that’s not what happened, is it?’

‘We were both caught by surprise, that’s all. A heat of the moment thing that got a little out of hand.’